


Spider-Man: Coming Home

by Wolf5bane



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, Canon Compliant, Crying, Homeless Peter Parker, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, To a point, my version of Spider-Man 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26046469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf5bane/pseuds/Wolf5bane
Summary: My version of Spider-Man 3 (MCU).----In a world where Spider-Man killed Mysterio, all mutants are considered dangerous.The future is bleak, in dire need of a hero to bring back justice and stop the violence that humanity is wreaking upon the mutants.But how can Peter Parker be that hero, when it takes everything out of him to survive and evade capture? How can he be a hero when he no longer has a safe home to come back to?The answer may be in the form of a man who definitely does not look like Tony Stark, because Tony Stark is dead-- right?----(will be crossposted on my wattpad under the same name)
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	1. prologue.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, here's a new fic of mine! It's my version of what Spider-Man 3 could be. It's probably a lot more dystopian and angsty but hey, you never know. 
> 
> It is definitely inspired by X-Men with the whole "mutants" thing going on. I won't say much more now in the description in case I give the whole plot away, so I'll just say: I hope you enjoy!  
> (I'm posting the prologue and the first chapter at once)

_“Please, he’s my son! He didn’t do anything wrong—”_

It was growing late. The streets were barren, save for the few stragglers getting back to their homes. A thin fog hung in the air, sticking to the buildings, serving as a translucent layer, only allowing muted streaks of light to shine through the rows of windows.

_“I don’t know what you’re doing! Please, let him go—let him go!”  
  
_

The late fall evening gave off an imitation of calm. To the untrained eye, the quiet scene, with only the sounds of muffled footsteps and leaves rustling in the evening breeze, would appear normal. Serene.

If only it weren’t for the eerie aura clinging to every atom of the area; the homes filled with hushed voices and fear; the woman’s screams.

_“Just… just, let’s go inside. Talk this out—”_

_“I didn’t do anything, mum! I don’t know what’s going on!”_

Home 256, on Hudder’s Street. Situated in a rural area of England, where, in the past, the most vivid talk of the town would be a country festival or the misdeeds of young people at the local high school.

Now, as with everywhere else in the world, things had become more serious. The town didn’t talk anymore. Mainly, it hid.

Hid away from the sounds of people being taken away from their homes in the middle of the night. Looked away when it happened in the day.

Because these people weren’t them, at least.

Were they really people at all?

_“If you’ll just calm down, ma’am, and things will go a lot better for all of us.”_

_“Please—”_

_“You knew the repercussions when you neglected to let the authorities know about the… thing, in your house.”_

_“He’s my son!”_

_“He’s a danger to society. Step aside.”_

_“He’s just a boy! It’s… it’s a costume. Isn’t that right, Richie? Show him. Show him it’s just a costume.”_  
  


_A laugh rattled down the street._

_“I’m pretty sure that costumes don’t bleed when you tug on them like that, ma’am.”_

The media told people that these _people_ , _who were not really people at all_ , were abnormalities. That the _people with things you wouldn’t want anywhere near your children_ were simply monsters donning shoddy disguises to look like humans, so that they could eat you up.

People with things like wings. Weaponised eyes with lazer beams that could cut through your hand. People with heightened speed, heightened strength, heightened reflexes. People who could shoot webs from their wrists and swing from building to building.

They were called ‘people with powers’, although in the media, this had simply been shortened to ‘mutants’.

Before, for many, many years, humanity had seen these powerful people as heroes. Vigilantes. Their saviours.

_A boy was led into a car with darkened windows, leaving a trail of bloodied feathers behind him. As the door slammed shut and the vehicle sped away, the mother on her doorstep, crying._

That was before their illusion had been shattered. These people were monsters. If they really were heroes, then why had Spider-Man murdered the great Mysterio?


	2. one.

“Hey, watch where you’re going!” A man shouted as a hooded boy pushed past him. He paused in his tracks, staring at the hunched figure quickly walking away from him, and grit his teeth. Need for a confrontation ached in his bones, but it was hardly satisfying to punch a kid who wouldn’t talk back. He settled for flipping his middle finger to the back of the boy before turning back and sauntering along, readying himself for the inevitable fight that he would get himself into.

The boy paid no heed to the insult, of course, since it wasn’t as if he had an extra pair of eyes in the back of his head. He shuddered, pulling on the drawstrings of his hoodie, shrouding even more of his face. It was an incredibly good thing that he didn’t have an extra pair of eyes. That would only make his task of blending in a whole lot more difficult. Thinking of it, he was extraordinarily lucky not to be cursed with such a mutation. After being bitten by a spider and gaining many of the abilities of one, he could very well have ended up with eight eyes and eight legs.

He stopped at the crossing as the traffic lights glimmered red, staring at the ground. Only a tuft of hair and his eyes poked out, hardly distinguishable features. Yet, he felt a sense of urgency to escape the eyes of the public as he stood in the crowded area of a New York city in the early morning.

It wasn’t as if Peter had been spotted yet. After seeing his face light up on that large news screen, he’d been sure that he’d be caught in a matter of seconds. The Spider-Man costume stood out like a sore thumb, with its striking red and black contrast of colours. However, he’d been lucky enough to swing away to safety.

The lights flickered green, and he began to walk swiftly ahead. There was a determination in his step, despite the fact that he had no destination.

He’d returned home to May’s apartment, bundled his suit into his backpack, along with some essentials, before changing quickly into the baggiest clothes he could find. His phone had been smashed into tiny pieces with the heel of his foot.

Peter stopped as he reached the unfamiliar centre of a city. He wasn’t exactly sure where he was, anymore (running away had consisted of a lot of hastily made decisions). Cars bustled all around him, with the unmistakeable tint of yellow and black taxis thrown in the mix. Shops and apartment blocks lined the streets, in tall, towering buildings. Glowing screens were dotted around the area.

One day, he recollected, they’d shone with advertisements about food and sports and new movie releases. Now, as he stood back and looked upwards, the light of the screens framing his face in a drab glow, he saw the time that they lived in.

_Mutants: They Could Be Anyone_

_Worried About Your Child? Bring Them To Richardson’s Clinic To Check For Mutations_

_Your Silence Is Their Defiance_

_Have you got PPI?_

Okay, maybe all of the advertisements hadn’t changed. Life continued on, in a way. People had accepted a normality fed to them and could easily turn the other way as their neighbour was turned in because someone suspected that they were telepathic.

And something that he couldn’t ignore, was the largest advertisement of all—it simply consisted of a picture of him, with the words ‘WANTED’ lettered in bold underneath, as if he were some Wild Western criminal. The reward was ‘FREEDOM’, which he found kind of cheesy, and, really, quite a bad marketing choice. If they’d offered a million dollars or something like that instead, then he was fairly sure that someone would have already caught him.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t be cautious. Whilst he liked to think in the good of humanity, there was the simple fact that a lot of people had believed what they were shown. Peter Parker is Spider-Man. Spider-Man killed Mysterio because he wanted to be the next Iron Man. He also launched the drone attack, killing innocent people. Even if there was no monetary gain from his capture, there was somehow still a motive in many to capture Spider-Man.

Maybe it was because of what the world had become. Maybe, people thought that everything would go back to normal, if Spider-Man were out of the picture. When those in charge had told them that Spider-Man was a mutant, and so, all mutants could be as evil as Spider-Man—well, they’d easily believed it. So, if all mutants were gone, then balance would return to the world.

He began to walk again. Another advertisement had caught his eye. Red and gold.

_Iron Man Wants You To Capture Spider-Man_

_Do It For Him_

Peter snorted, despite the sudden hammering of his heart in his chest. Yeah, right. Iron Man was the one who had helped train him as a hero.

Things would be a lot easier if Tony were still here. He ducked into an alleyway, closing his eyes, and leaning against the wall to catch his breath. His bulky backpack clunked against the bricks behind him.

If Tony was here, then he would have had someone to go to. He couldn’t endanger May or Ned or MJ or anyone—Tony was Iron Man. His mentor. If Tony were here, he wouldn’t have to sleep in alleyways behind bins, covered in cardboard and the thin protection of his old blanket. He wouldn’t have to scrounge for scraps, he wouldn’t have to dumpster dive, he wouldn’t have to jump from one job to the next, leaving before he could properly make an impression in order to evade identification as Peter Parker, the boy who killed Mysterio. He wouldn’t have to live in a world where people with mutations were being captured (and killed? He didn’t know what was happening, anymore) for who they were. Wouldn’t have to stand there and do nothing, because it was taking everything out of him simply surviving.

Peter choked on a sob, and swiftly slid down the wall, burying his head into his knees to muffle the sound. God, he was a mess. How long ago was it when he was swinging through the city as Spider-Man with his girlfriend, MJ? How long ago was it when he last talked to someone?

A crash.

He clamped a hand over his mouth, stilling his breaths and straining his hearing. The sound came from somewhere nearby. It was then that he heard the muffled voices- one of which sounded like a scream.

Something in him stirred, something that he remembered from his days as the masked hero. His spider senses had often shouted at him, whilst muggings and murders and thefts had gone on around him, but these past few months, he’d had no choice but to ignore them. And, slowly, his spider senses had become a lot quieter.

He’d wondered if his powers were fading, but it turned out that he was just becoming acclimated to a life where saving lives was no longer a daily activity.

So now, he wondered why the scream of his senses was so loud that he could focus on nothing else. Taking a shaky breath, he pushed himself to his feet, walking down the alleyway, and taking a turn around the corner.

In front of him stood a pair of people with homemade weapons, and on the floor, was a man who looked a lot like Tony Stark.


End file.
